


Just like always

by Jpnpr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring John, Caring Sam, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Sick!Dean, Sickfic, Sickness, Weechester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jpnpr/pseuds/Jpnpr
Summary: For the first time in years, Dean lets his hopes go high for an actual birthday. But things never go very well with Winchesters, especially if they are supposed to go as planned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here I am, finally posting this fic. All parts have been written and are waiting to be uploaded. I'm not sure about a schedule, but it shouldn't take more than four days for a new chapter. Enjoy:)

“Hey, Dean, remember the new movie you kept talking about the last,” Sam made a fake pause, and let his gaze wander in the door frame he was leaning in, “three months?”

Dean rolled his eyes and returned to cleaning the guns Dad had told them to finish before he came back, not looking at his annoying brother. Sam had made fun of him for long enough about that movie, and he hadn’t even had the chance to watch it. “Yeah, what about it?”

“You still interested?”

Dean put the gun down, throwing the cleaning cloth on the bed next to him. “It’s been two weeks since it left the theatres.”

“Well, good thing it still runs in the theatres of this small town here. I can get tickets for next Wednesday if you still want to go.” Sam’s cocky smirk and apparent serenity showed Dean exactly how much Sam had looked forward to this moment, and it made Dean grin.

“For real?” He’d given up finding the movie anywhere soon. The guys at his previous school hadn’t been talking about anything else, and it had made him damn curious. He’d never looked forward to a movie that much, and of course there had been a spontaneous hunt, and a camping trip on short notice after that, and it had lasted two weeks, and all in all, their hunter life had hindered Dean effectively from watching that movie.

“Yeah, apparently they take everything slower in these tiny towns.”

“Wow, that’s awesome!” He couldn’t believe it… and the damper appeared soon enough. Dad’s next hunt. Dean didn’t remember any part of his life where Dad had been busier than last few months. “Are we even going to stick around till Wednesday?”

“Yeah, the hunt’s not before Friday.”

Dean smiled. Of course, his nerd brother had thought about everything already. “Great, Sammy, thanks!”

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. “It’s Sam, jerk.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Sam laughed at the familiar exchange, but soon a hesitant expression made its way.

“What is it?”

“I was thinking…”

“Nothing unusual,” Dean muttered, and Sam ignored it.

“…maybe Dad could come? He doesn’t work this time after all,” Sam suggested, although he knew that Dean had little influence on that. They hadn’t seen much of Dad lately, and even if Sam didn’t admit it, the look on his face, the small spark of hope half expecting to be blown off, it was too familiar.

“He’s probably busy, Sam,” Dean explained, well knowing Sam’s attitude to Dad lately. It seemed like every mistake the man did, or everything that didn’t fit with Sam, sparked a new blow of anger. “The hunt is important.”

For a moment, Dean could see the four-year-old, disappointed brother in Sam’s pout. “There’s still time for the hunt afterwards. Two hours won’t make a difference. Besides, your birthday is important, too.”

Dean gave in with a sigh. “We can ask him. But don’t get your hopes too high, short stuff. You know Dad.”

Finally, Sam smiled, even if it was a sad one. “Yeah, I know.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Dad,” Dean greeted his father, who’d just came back after another day of long research and investigation. “You’re late today. You want something to eat?”

“Hey, Dean. Yeah, I’d appreciate that.” Dad threw his jacket on the couch and went over to the bathroom with heavy steps.

“’Kay, I’ll fix you soup and… something I still need a name for.” Dean put the plate he’d already prepared into the microwave.

“You tried something again?” Dad spoke while washing his hands, eyeing Dean form the mirror. Dean nearly laughed at the suppressed nervousness hidden behind the amusement in his father’s deep voice.

“Don’t worry, Dad, it’s not that bad this time. Sam swears it’s delicious. And if Sam likes something, it’s either good or rabbit food. And you know I wouldn’t make rabbit food.” Finally, both plates were heated up. “Here you are, Dad.” He put the food in front of Dad and sat down on the next side of the table.

“Thanks.” Dad took a sniff in the hot steam of the eccentric mixture Dean had cooked. “It smells good.”

“Of course.” Dean waited until Dad took his first sip of the soup, and his face relaxed fully. Apparently, he watched too intently, as Dad suddenly met his eyes. “Dad, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Spill it out,” Dad said, turning back to his soup.

Dean took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._ “You said the hunt is on the weekend, right? And it looks like research is going fine, too. And also, we haven’t done anything together recently, anything for fun, I mean. Not that training isn’t fun, of course, but something different, maybe not directly connected to hunting stuff-”

“Dean.”

Damn it, he was rambling. “Sam and I, we’d like to go to the theatres on Wednesday, and it would be great if you had time.” Short and clear, the way Dad liked it.

“Wednesday, huh?”

Dean felt hope rise for the first time as Dad seemed to honestly consider it.

“If both of you make up for the training hours…”

Dean couldn’t help the smile that creeped up his face. He hadn’t really expected Dad to have time for a movie, with all that stuff he had going on. “Yeah, I promise, Dad, and I’m sure Sam will, too-”

“Good.”

“So… you can come?” They hadn’t seen a movie together since… forever.

Dad shrugged, as if he was having this conversation on a daily base. “I don’t see why not.”

“Seriously?” Dean was aware he sounded ridiculous, but he was still looking for a hitch, another condition, but it seemed legit.

Dad let out a breath, brought the full spoon back to the table, and just glared at Dean, not aware of the celebratory mood about to explode in his son. “Dean.”

“That’s awesome, Dad! Thank you, you’re the best, thank you!”

Dad just rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Dean, you aren’t a prom date.”

Dean felt blood shoot in his face, and he tried to dial down the voice and grin a little. “Sorry, Dad, I- I should text Sam, he can buy the tickets on his way home…” He trailed of as he fumbled with his phone, imagining his brother’s reaction when he heard the news.

“Don’t forget your promise, son.”

“Yessir, of course not. Thanks, Dad.”


	2. Chapter 2

“See ya, brat.”

“Have a nice evening, sir.”

With a last wave to the kid with the puffy cheeks behind the counter full of snacks and lighters Dean strolled out of the gas’n’sip, not without activating the entry chime sounding like a flock of noisy ducks. Maybe birds, not ducks. Still unnecessary, still annoying the grumpy grandpa next to the door, so he made sure to hear it every time he entered or left the shop. During the three weeks they had been here, he had gotten used to the people hanging out around. They didn’t even have school last week, because of a local holiday or something. Dean didn’t really know or care why there were no classes, he was just glad there wasn’t, because that was how he’d discovered the secret party place of his local peers. More importantly, that way it had been easy to match their schedule to dad’s and find a good time for the movie on Wednesday.

Dean kicked a round stone, first on accident, but he liked the sound of rock against the payment, so after making sure there was no one around, he started kicking it towards the motel they were staying in. He let it successfully bounce back from the fence of one of the standard gardens of the standard houses on this pretty much standard street in a suburb a couple times, getting into a rhythm. Once again, his eyes wandered, and after confirming no one was in earshot, he started humming Metallica.

He chuckled as he thought of Sam’s reaction when he’d shown him the new tapes he’d bought. But house rules in the Impala were unbreakable, and Sam was always the one to shut his cakehole when either Dad or Dean picked the music. And Dad always put in Dean’s tapes, no matter how much Sammy would whine about it. Dean knew their father enjoyed watching a sulking Sam in the backseat after that, the beat forcing him to nod along, just like Dean enjoyed it. Sometimes he’d turn the volume up, sending a small wink Dean’s way.

Sometimes, though, Sam and Dad would team up against Dean, and that wasn’t fun at all, at least not for Dean. Last week Sam had made fun of him for getting dumped by that Elena chick, and Dad had laughed and said it served him right, for spending so much money on dates. And they had started to make a list of how many times Dean had gotten the brush-off and what he’d deserved it for. That evening had lasted forever.

Dean sighed as he shoved the rock around the corner. It was getting rare to see his brother and father in synch like before. Sam always complained, and knew exactly how to rub the man the wrong way, and Dad would get stricter and louder and harder in fear of letting them go too far astray.

Despite all that, they were going to the theatre together, just like the old times, and Dean couldn’t wait for it.

Birthdays weren’t a big deal for Winchesters, and Dean didn’t mind, but he was damn grateful for Sammy’s idea. Not that he’d told him how much, but it was really nice.

Last year, Dean had been in the hospital after a hunt while Dad and Sam where already on the next one. The year before there had been the wendigo stuff going on, and before that Dad had dropped them off somewhere as the werewolf he was hunting turned out to be in town.

Dean didn’t take it personal, he really didn’t. Dad cared about them, he always worried, and he would bring home a pie or something within a week after their birthdays. But hunts were important. Everything in their lives was important, and birthdays were just days anyway.

Even this year, Dean wasn’t happy because it was his birthday. Well, it wasn’t the main reason. He would finally watch the movie he’d been waiting for months, only to be too busy in the short weeks the movie was running.

But Sammy had found it here. And they were gonna watch it. All three of them, together.

Before he knew it, he had already reached the parking of the motels. His eyes fell on the black impala, parked a little sideways, shining in the orange evening sun in all its glory.

Dean threw a look at their door before heading towards the car. He wasn’t in a hurry, anyway.

Once he reached the Impala, he carefully put the groceries on the ground next to the tires, only to put his hand on the trunk and feel the cold but familiar texture beneath his fingers. He went towards the front side, not breaking the contact. “Hey, beautiful.”

He could see the tapes from where he was standing, the collection Dad had started years ago. At one side of the box, Dean had put his own few ones, starting his own collection last year. Now it seemed like it was waiting to be expanded. There was an empty bottle in the back seat, for which he’d kill Sam later, and the compartment next to the driver’s seat had to be sorted, too. His fingers twitched at the sight of the empty seat and motionless steer. If he had the keys on him, he’d surely take a tour around the block, just for the fun of it. He’d missed riding the car. Dad took it to his research every day, not giving Dean a chance to make a small detour.

He stopped as he caught sight of the spots of grime and dirt on the fender parts. “Hey, baby, what happened here?” He went on his knees to take a closer look, deep frowns forming on his face. The typical traces of high speed on wet land roads were all over the lower parts. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with some water and soap. “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll get you cleaned up, all right? I’ll make you shine tomorrow.”

He stood up, rubbing his hands against each other to pat off the dirt, giving his back to the side of the car and fixing his eyes on no particular spot. “Baby, if you were mine, I would clean you up every day,” he spoke with a sigh. “I would never let Sam eat his rabbit food inside, I would kill every bird looking at you the wrong way.”

He would give anything to get the car. Driving the impala, owning it, had been his dream since Dad had taught him to drive. But even then, he’d known that Dad wouldn’t give it up easily. He’d bought the car way before Dean had been born, and there was a special bond between them, too. He hadn’t even dared to ask.

He’d met many boys his age that had their own cars. If he wanted to, Dean could probably buy a small one, too, or repair one at Bobby’s place and take it. Bobby had offered often enough.

Dean pulled a breath, enjoying the company of baby until he’d leave in a minute.

He wouldn’t buy another car. The car he owned, if it wasn’t his baby, what was even the point? No, he was okay with walking most of the time if he could take her once or twice a week. Most weeks.

“Someday, beautiful, someday, you’ll be mine.”

With another sigh and a last gaze at the car, he took the bags, and made his way to the motel room.

Finally, he arrived at the door, but as soon as he was within earshot his good mood vanished. There were voices – shouting. They were fighting. Again. Dean tried to ignore the nausea was creeping in, spreading in his stomach. Judging from the volume it seemed serious and Dean prepared for his mediator role before they took off each other’s head.

While fumbling with the keys he tried to figure out what exactly they were fighting about.

“No, you’re _not_ training enough. Not nearly,” he heard his father yell. He sighed. Training, of course. What else.

“Would it kill you to just once tell me I should study, Dad? Or read a book, or stop sitting around and go meet friends? Like any normal father does?”

Dean opened the door. None of them took notice.

“You are already studying, and you will get your degree or diploma or whatever anyways. I don’t expect you to bring home good grades, I expect you to do your training and to be able to protect yourself.”

Dean sneaked into the kitchen, and put the stuff next to the crowded sink. He pulled out his leather jacket while he entered the room the shouting match took place. He threw it across the couch as he assessed the situation.

Sam was articulating while saying something about being strong enough already and hunting, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, while Dad just stared at him, cold and motionless like a rock.

This was bad.

Before he could catch up on the exact content of the next exchange, he heard Sammy say, “right, Dean?” and suddenly all eyes were on him. Dean swallowed. Both Dad and Sammy expected him to back them up, and Dean knew they were both right at some points, but saying that would only disappoint both sides, and help nothing. He had to find a solution, right now, or a distraction, also right now.

They continued to stare, and Dean felt the pressure rise under the anger that was not directed at him originally, but was still shooting daggers from both sides. Preferably closer than now.

“I brought pie…?”

Dean cringed on the inside. Not only did awfully like a question and generally like something the most embarrassing character would say in a comedy show to make the audience laugh, and his attempted smile was probably crackling to a grimace, but he also knew that the only person in the room to get distracted by pie in almost any situation was… Dean himself.

He was glad he’d bought apple, by the way.

And the shouting started again.

After cursing at himself he tried tuning in again.

“Guys…”

Dad ignored him, making a step towards Sam, pointing his finger at his chest. “I am trying to teach you what you have to know, so that you won’t have to learn it the hard way!”

“You mean this is the easy way? You made us run in the middle of the night, Dad! In January, in snow!”

“It’s easier than the way life teaches you!”

“Sam, come on…”

Sam didn’t listen. “Life isn’t gonna teach me anything if you don’t force it!”

“It isn’t? Like it didn’t teach the family in Indiana? Or the girl that lost her brother to the werewolf? Or maybe the other guy who got turned before he knew what was going on?”

_Yeah, Dad, well done, bring up the ones we couldn’t save, you know how Sammy likes these._

“I don’t want to have to do with any of those, Dad! I just want to go to school and read books, not live horror stories myself.”

“You don’t always get what you want, Sam.”

Dean hissed as his head started to pound, like the words were hammering down on him, his hand on his temple by reflex. It wasn’t even the first time. Lately, every single conversation between his brother and his dad seemed to be a fight, and every time he tried to stay calm, but he was getting enough of this.

“I never get what I want, Dad, never! You always make sure of that. You never ask what I want, what I like, it doesn’t matter, it never does. I’m sick of this! I’m sick of hunting, sick of moving, sick of training, sick of this life!”

Sam’s harsh words cut the noise, and for a couple seconds, it was silent. Dad didn’t say anything at first, but Dean could see his jaw clenching at Sam’s rejection of everything they’d worked for. Dean knew he had to do something, or things were going really far south really fast. He stepped between them, pushing Sam back a step, raising his hands to calm his father down. “Dad, he didn’t mean it like that, he didn’t mean to -”

“Yes, I did!”

Dean turned to his fuming brother behind him, trying to convey the message with his eyes. “Sam, shut up for a sec -”

“No, I won’t, I won’t shut up, Dean!”

Great, little brother in toddler mode. Dean suppressed a groan with difficulty. “Sammy, please, not now.” On the other hand, he was grateful that Dad hadn’t pushed him out of his way yet.

“You know what?” Sam squinted at him, finally giving his big brother attention. “I’m sick of you always being on his side, too. Just because you like training, you always keep your mouth shut!”

Ouch, that stung. But Dean bit back any comment before he could even think of it. Between these two, he didn’t have the luxury to be butthurt, so he turned back to his father. “Dad, you know him, he’s just a teeny, it’s his time of the month. He doesn’t -”

But Dad pushed him aside at his shoulders. So much for being grateful for not doing that. “Stop making excuses for him, Dean. You’re trying to protect him, but not learning his lessons will only put him in danger in the long run.”

_Putting him in danger._ Dean would never, ever put Sam in danger. Dad knew that!

Right. Dad knew that. No need to comment. _Shut your mouth, Dean, already enough tension here._

Apparently, the few seconds Dean didn’t use to answer were all Dad needed for his decision. “Fine, Sam,” he declared, as if everything was over now, “Pack your stuff. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”

“What? Why?”

“You say you have learned enough? You’ll show me on hunts.”

But… the hunt was on the weekend. The hunt wasn’t before Friday. Another voice whispered in Dean’s head, a selfish, stupid, childish one, and he hated it. _The hunt wasn’t supposed to be before Wednesday._

“You said the hunt isn’t before Friday.” Sam squinted in suspicion.

“I’ll give Singer a call and he’ll pile all the cases he finds for this week on your plate. Then we’ll see if you’ve grown up or not.”

Dean could hear the challenge in his father’s voice, the dare for Sam to disagree.

Sam heard it, too. And Sam didn’t back off. “Fine.”

It took a second to register the meaning of the words as they echoed in Dean’s head, just like the sharp pain coming in stronger waves every time Dean. The nausea was rising, too.

Something… something in this conversation was missing. “So, we’re leaving tomorrow morning?”

Finally, Dad looked at him, really saw him for the first time since he’d entered the house. “You were already on a hunt last week, with Caleb. You did you’re training. And Sam needs to do this without you’re help. You’re staying.”

“But…” He wasn’t even sure what to say, how to change Dad’s mind. It was like his brain had turned into a swampy sponge, not working like it should, only creating a bigger mess.

“You’re staying, Dean.”

Dean broke off. He knew he had a better chance to try a new hunt on his own. Not a good chance.

He met Sam’s eyes for a second. Sam was still burning with rage, crumbles of anger towards Dean in his eyes for not backing him up, but he was also aware that next week was going to be hell. Dad would push him harder than ever, and Sam had never hunted alone before. Well, technically he wasn’t alone. But he hadn’t hunted without Dean. Dad would never let Sam get hurt, but he wouldn’t reassure him either, try and make him feel safe and protected, two things Sam usually didn’t feel while fighting monsters. That was kinda the whole point.

Dean looked back at his father, who was still demanding a sign that Dean understood, accepted. Obeyed, like he always did. Dean knew he hoped for Dean to cooperate, and maybe talk later to Sam and explain why this had to be done. Why Sam had to train, to be strong, why he had to become a hunter.

But right now, Dean didn’t want to support either of them. Something next to his nausea was building up inside, anger, confusion and a different kind of sting, and he just looked back and forth between his family.

Dad was the first to realize. Dean saw the change in his eyes.

And Dean waited, waited for him to say the hunt could start on 25th, not before 24th, or just sometime later. Because it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter at all when this thing took place, he hadn’t even asked Bobby yet.

But Dad waited for Dean to accept.

“Yessir,” Dean said, but he couldn’t quite tone down the disbelief. And that made Sam remember.

His little brother’s eyes went wide in realization and filled with guilt.

And Dean waited once more, waited for any attempt of apology towards Dad, an explanation, an attempt to make it alright. But Sam continued to look at Dean with those puppy eyes saying sorry, not giving in to what Dean was sure was one of his most chiding glares.

Then Dad said something both more granting and cruel than he ever had. “Sam?” His voice wasn’t as firm as ever, as closed to compromise, as written in stone as ever. _Say you’re sorry and we can stay._

Dean could see Sammy’s struggle, already knowing the outcome. Sam wouldn’t be Sam if he backed off on his word. Just like Dad wouldn’t be Dad if he’d just let it slip once.

“As I said, it’s fine, sir.”

And Dean wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t hate himself for thinking about the movie, about their plans, about the next week he was going to spend alone. Not while Sam was thinking about an intensive training camp and Dad was going to spend his whole week on edge. He wouldn’t be Dean if he wasn’t angry at himself for being a chick over a ruined birthday like it was the first time.

And he was angry at himself. But it didn’t stop him from grabbing his jacket and leaving the motel without giving neither his brother nor his father another look.

* * *

 

He first thought about hitting a bar, maybe talk to a waitress or two, but his head was about to explode and there was a chance that anything that entered his stomach would leave the same way, so that idea was dismissed quickly.

Instead, he started wandering through the streets, trying to understand why he was the one upset about the situation. He hadn’t even been involved in the fight. Dad let him stay here, he could still go and watch the movie.

He kicked the stone he’d absentmindedly started to play with a little too hard, sending it over the street, right under a parking car. He didn’t even want to watch the stupid movie anymore.

Was it because it was his birthday? But he didn’t care about birthdays, he never had. It was just a day. Besides, he was used to it. Just like he’d been used to it last year when he’d stayed at the hospital where the nurses weren’t even hot, and he’d spent his day calling Sam and Dad and Bobby, because the two hadn’t answered, and Bobby had known what the hunt was about. He’d annoyed Bobby to the point the old man had told him to shut up, take his medicine and go to sleep, and to quit worrying. Sam had called the next day, swearing the hunt hadn’t given him the chance to call. Dean believed him, Sam wouldn’t make Dean worry if he could help it, and he’d never forget his birthday. But it hadn’t been the same.

It hadn’t been the same when Sam had sung happy birthday the year before that, when they were hunting the wendigo in the woods, waiting for Dad to return to their safe circle. It had been better though, at least they had been together.

Dean took a deep breath. No, it wasn’t about his birthday. He wasn’t going to sulk over a birthday like a child. He wouldn’t be pissed because he was going to be the one to stay back for a week. Besides, being alone meant he didn’t have to listen to their stupid fights, he didn’t have to force Sammy to do his exercises. He could party all week, stay out whole day, he could do whatever he wanted to.

Yeah, a free week would definitely be fun. It was gonna be fun. If only his head would stop pulsing like a bouncing basketball.

He tried not to think about how dangerous every hunt was, no matter how easy. How it took a simple mistake to die with your heart ripped apart or blood sucked out or brain eaten up. How much he wanted to help Dad, protect Sammy…

But Dad was the best. He wouldn’t get hurt, he wouldn’t let Sammy get hurt. Dean didn’t have to be there. They didn’t need him. And like Dad said, Sam needed to toughen up and for that, Dean was just in the way.

He could stay back a week. He could survive that. And they would come back, pick him up. Dad would bring pie, and Sam would babble about how awful hunting was, and when they were alone, he would tell Dean what went bad and what he did good, and how nice it was to save the child or granny or puppy or whatever. It was going to be fine. It definitely was.

But right now, Dean had to go home. Because he wouldn’t see Sam for a week and Sam was certainly nervous and feeling bad, and Dean had to do a pep-talk, maybe even a chick-flick moment to get his head in the game. When Sam felt like he’d messed up, he wasn’t himself the next few days. He’d drowse off, sulk when he thought no one was watching, and keep trying to apologize in the most awkward moments. But he couldn’t do that this time. Because you couldn’t go on a hunt when you’re distracted. Dean would never forgive himself if Sam got hurt because of a stupid birthday plan.

He sighed. Today sucked. But the cold winter air had helped cool off his head a little. It still hurt, and he hoped they had something left in the first aid kit for his stomach, but he felt better now. He just hoped he could set some things straight before Dad and Sam left, make sure they are good enough to not start a fight in the first 12 hours, and then he could rest. For an entire week.

He took the turn to go around the block and turn out back at their motel. His mind went to the pie he had bought earlier and almost in a subconscious level he stepped up his pace.

* * *

 

“Where’s Dad?” Dean asked as he entered the motel, making Sam jump on his place.

“Dean!” Surprise left for guilt in his eyes almost instantly and his voice was quiet as he answered. “Out. He said he had to do some arrangements before we leave.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Are you preparing?”

Sam shuffled his feet. “Actually… I’m not sure what I need. I mean I packed clothing and stuff, and my knife and the .45 of course, but Dad didn’t say anything about what we’re hunting… so… I thought maybe you would know.”

Dean smiled. He couldn’t wait for the immunity against this puppy looks of his brother that would come with time. Hopefully.

“You don’t have to put more weapons in your bag, we put them in the trunk anyway.”

“But Dad told me to make sure to be properly equipped.”

“Yeah, that means he wants you to think about what you may need. Just make a list and ask if you can check for the things when he’s back so he knows what you’ve prepared.”

“Oh.” Sam scratched his head. “That makes sense.”

Dean laughed. “Of course, it does.” He ruffled Sam’s head, finally making the pouty lips wrinkle upwards.

“Stop it, Dean!”

“Or what, short stuff?” Dean laughed at Sam’s attempt to straighten his hair back in order.

“I’m not gonna stay short for ever.”

“But you’ll always be smaller than big brother,” Dean countered, making his way to the groceries. “Did you already eat, Sammy?”

“We’ll see about that,” Sam threw in. “Maybe I’ll be even bigger than Dad.”

“Pfft… Dream on, squirt.”

Suddenly Sam’s face fell again. “Dean…”

Dean ignored it. “Did you already eat something?”

“Yeah, I did. Dean, listen -”

He took the pie out of the bag. “Good. You wanna join me on the pie? I might even give you a whole quarter.”

“Dean, listen,” Sam persisted. “About the movie-”

“It’s okay, Sam. There’s always spontaneous stuff like this.”

Sam groaned in annoyance. “Why won’t you let me speak?”

Dean took two plates and carried them to the table. “Why do you have to turn everything to a chick-flick moment?”

Sam stumped over with, emphasizing every step, and yanked the pie out of Dean’s hands. “I’m serious, Dean.”

Dean knew Sam was trying to make him look at him, to listen, but ripping pie out of his hands was obviously a mistake.

“Sam,” he growled, “give me my pie, now.”

“Listen to me!”

“My pie!”

“Fine,” Sam shouted, and slammed the pie on the table. “Here’s your stupid pie. But you’re not getting any before you don’t let me finish.”

Dean took his eyes off the delicious and vulnerable sanctuary on the table with difficulties. “Fine. Talk.”

Sam took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about the movie. I really am.”

“It’s okay, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s not. You always make sure I have a nice birthday, but yours is somehow ruined every time. I really tried this time -”

“I know you did, Sammy. I’m not mad at you.”

It was like Sam didn’t hear him, already pouting in almost defiance again. “It was going to be so good, but Dad ruined it. He-”

Dean intervened before Sam could start his full-on rant. “Stop it, Sam. Don’t make this about Dad, too.”

Sam looked up, and there was hurt in his eyes. “What?”

Dean took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not blaming you. But I’m not blaming him, either. It’s just the way it is.”

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean continued. “You feel bad, and you want to apologize, I get it. You don’t have to, but I accept it. But don’t start blaming Dad, because he is just as blameless as you.”

Dean knew the last sentence didn’t fit well with Sam, but that was just the way things were. Dad and Sam were practically the same, and if there had to be a pulse damper between the two metal plates to keep them together and away from damage, he would do it.

“Now, do you want pie or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this one is much longer. Hope you enjoy! Any kind of feedback is appreciated:)


	3. Chapter 3

“Ready to go?”

It wasn’t really a question. The implication was ‘ _Get in the car and better hurry’._ Even more an order than usual, more urging.

“Yes.” But Sam didn’t hold it against him. He couldn’t. Because Sam, too, was pissed at the cashier of the gas station because he’d counted every single coin and counted wrong twice on top of that. He’d nearly cursed at the old man in his way, nearly asked Dad what the hell was taking him so long, in exactly that tone. No, he didn’t blame Dad for making a haste and rushing.

He sat on the passenger seat, where Dean would usually sit, and turned towards the window, trying to get comfortable with his head against his elbow, looking away from Dad, sitting as far away as possible.

Because he did blame Dad for other things. He blamed him for dragging him to this hunt, he blamed him for doing it on Dean’s birthday, he blamed him for not calling Dean, not once, although Sam had insisted, he’d _told him_ that something was off. That Dean wasn’t answering his calls. It wasn’t that unusual that Dean didn’t return Sam’s calls, because Sam often called for trivial occasions. He asked where Dean was, where he’d put Sam’s book, what they were eating for dinner. He asked if he could come home late, if they could skip training so he could stay at the library. And Dean didn’t always immediately pick up the phone, though he’d answer or text later.

This time he wasn’t calling back, and his texts had gone from weird to total absent. But Dad still wouldn’t have called if Sam hadn’t made Bobby threaten to never let John use the library again if he didn’t check on Dean.

Then Dad had called, on Wednesday, and Dean hadn’t answered, which still didn’t have to mean anything. But a Winchester rule pretty high in the rank said that phone calls from Dad were to be answered, because Dad didn’t just call to check in. He called to announce their departure in two hours, give a research task or in life and death situations. If they took more than two hours to call back, Dad was free to assume the worst, and the boys would bear the consequences. And false alarms had cruel consequences.

When Dad called, it was important, and they both picked the damn phone. But Dean didn’t, not this time.

After the first half of an hour, Dad had put his phone next to the book he was reading, annoyed at himself for checking the thing every five minutes. After an hour, they had both stopped turning the pages, reading the same passage over and over again, each time a new attempt to concentrate. A couple minutes before two hours were over, Dad had snapped his book shut and started staring at the clock on the wall across the room. Sam figured he’d given up the research, too, but it had sucked that Sam had to pretend he was still reading. He wasn’t in the mood to challenge his dad, though.

After two hours sharp, Dad had called the hunt off.

Sam took a shaky breath and pressed his head against the cool window without paying attention to the blurry forms he’d watched when they drove past the first time. There were small towns with funny names in the area, but Sam could only think about how Dean would’ve commented them. How he would make stupid references. How they couldn’t go to the stupid movie. How Dean hadn’t answered him for more than an entire day.

* * *

 

It was nearly evening when they arrived at the motel after their five-hour drive. Sam fished the keys from his back as soon as they entered the town, jumped out of the car the second it came to a halt in the parking lot and ran to the door.

The lights were on, which could’ve been a good sign if it hadn’t been one of the brightest days in January. Dean had left them on during the day? Since yesterday? He knocked against the door while unlocking it, hoping to get a response. Maybe… Maybe there was an explanation for this, a situation where Dean was alright. Stupid, but alright.

He shoved the door open, careful as he didn’t know what expected him inside, but instantly realized there was something seriously wrong as a heavy smell of burn enwrapped him, stifling every other note that could have been in the air. It wasn’t fresh anymore, but every piece of furniture had been exposed to the stench too long to be saved from the clasp of it. A quick glance, and Sam spotted what else was wrong. Despite the disturbing smell of burn and ash, the windows were closed, trapping the smell in the rooms.

Sam ran to the source in the kitchen, ignoring the urge to run back out and get a big gasp of fresh air before continuing. He recognized a pot next to the stove. Whatever had been filling it was now reduced to black matter. Carefully Sam approached his hand, but everything was cold, like it hadn’t been touched for hours. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t happened that day, which could only mean that either Dean hadn’t been home since yesterday, or…

“Dean?” His father’s gruffy, demanding voice snapped Sam out of the horrible scenarios. “Sam?”

Sam rushed to the room he’d shared with Dean before leaving without answering his father but calling out for his brother instead.

He pushed the door open and ran inside without registering what he saw at first. Next second, he felt dizzy in relief as he saw his brother’s figure in the bed, snuggled in his covers. He was facing the opposite wall, but it wasn’t like Sam needed to see his face to recognize his big brother. He heard himself chuckle. “You are so dead, Dean.”

He didn’t even try to wake him gently. One second he was just staring, next he’d already thrown himself on the sleeping figure, half in a hug, half crushing him under the couple of new inches he’d grown last couple of weeks. “You are the biggest idiot ever.” He was about to call out for Dad as an unsettling feeling spread. Dean wasn’t a heavy sleeper, and Sam was practically lying on top of him. He should be wide awake by now.

He climbed closer to see his brother’s face and slid off the bed as soon as he got a look.

Dean was covered in sweat and red as a tomato. His hair was sticking at the side of his face and his eyes were surrounded by dark rings. His mouth was half open, and his breathing was too out of rhythm to belong to a healthy, tight sleep, more like a person feeling too cold. Sam’s eye fell on the half-spilled Tylenol on the floor as he realized the smell of sickness stinging in his nose.

How hadn’t he seen that sooner?

He called out for his father before trying to shake his brother awake. “Dean. Wake up!”

Dad appeared at the door the next second. “Sam? What’s- Dean!” Sam could hear in Dad’s voice that he wasn’t as easy to satisfy as Sam had been at Dean’s sight. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad, I can’t…” His voice broke, and he felt tears well up in his eyes. “I can’t wake him up, Dad.”

Dad was beside Dean the next moment, and Sam stepped back to make space, somehow relieved that his father took over, that he’d tell him what to do. Dad surely knew.

Dad shook Dean at his shoulders, not as frantic as Sam. “Dean. Dean.” But even Dad’s persistent voice couldn’t make Dean open his eyes. Dad brought his hand to Dean’s head, as if to wake him by ruffling his hair. But as soon as he made contact with Dean’s skin, his eyes widened, and he pressed his palm against Dean’s forehead, his cheek, his big scarred hand enclosing Dean’s whole face. Sam didn’t remember ever seeing him like this, firm like he always was, but there was a hint of gentleness, like he was too scared to break something. Usually Sam would be suspicious, maybe a little jealous, but mainly pissed at his father for only pretending to care. But right now, it just made everything worse. Sam wanted Dad to bark an order like always, he wanted Dean to jump the second he heard it, apologizing for something stupid… Sam wanted to be angry, not scared and in the dark as he had no idea what was going on.

But Dean didn’t wake up, and at Dad’s touch, he recoiled in his sleep and shivered. Nothing else.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Sam didn’t care that his voice shook, that he had meant it to be louder.

“He’s burning,” Dad muttered, more to himself, hand still on Dean’s face, eyes still wide.

He blinked and stood up in a rush of action. “Sam, grab a bottle of water and a cloth, and go start the car. Hurry!”

Sam wanted to stay with Dean, but the moment Dad threw the keys, his body obeyed on its own. Dad knew what to do. Dad could help Dean.

He grabbed the stuff and ran to the car. He wasn’t allowed to drive yet, but Dean had already taught him, just in case. Dean…

Sam rubbed the tears out of his eyes and fumbled with the keys. Finally, he managed to run them in the ignition and start the car. Before he could scoot over the passenger’s seat, Dad was leaving the motel with his brother.

He’d thrown one arm around Dean’s shoulder, carrying more than supporting him. His lips were moving, talking to Dean.

Sam tried to make out if Dean was conscious, but they’d already arrived at the car before he knew it, and Dad was manoeuvring Dean to the backseat. “Is he awake?”

“He’s delirious. Come here, Sam.”

Sam jumped out of the car and rushed to the back to help Dad however he could.

“Get inside.” Dad nodded towards the side he wanted Sam to sit, and laid down Dean next to him, placing his head on Sam’s thigh before jumping into the driver’s seat of the running car.

He threw the bottle and cloth Sam had left next to the front seat to Sam before chasing out of the parking lot onto the empty roads, taking sharp turns and driving way to fast.

“Sam, wet the cloth and try to bring down the fever until we’re at the hospital.”

Sam gulped as he touched Dean’s face. It really was burning up. He opened the bottle and poured some of it on Dean in the process, partly caused by his shaking hands, partly by Dad’s reckless driving. He doubted it was a bad thing, because either it would wake up Dean, or he would be too out of it to care anyway.

When the wet cloth touched his face however, Dean shivered, and his lips moved in a silent whisper. Sam bend down to hear what his brother was saying, wiping his face and neck at the same time.

“I caught… the fish…”

Sam frowned. “What fish, Dean? What are you talking about?”

Dean answered with his eyes closed. “The ghost fish… But that’s my bike…”

Sam raised his head, about to ask Dad what was happening to Dean, but Dad was on the phone.

“We’ll be there in seven minutes. My son has a dangerously high fever, he’s lost consciousness for about 30 hours, and he’s confused.” He threw the phone to the empty shotgun seat and gripped the steer hard with both hands, like they would arrive faster if he just squeezed it enough. Sam could see his eyes in the rear mirror, fixed on the road like hunting a monster, only there was no enemy in front of them. Sam wondered if it would’ve been better that way. If Dean had been hurt by a shifter, thrown by a ghost, bitten by a ghoul. If there had been something evil, something to blame, to kill. If it hadn’t been his brother being sick and alone when he’d needed his family the most.

“Sam.” Dad’s voice stopped the one in Sam’s head making him feel like a useless, thankless, unworthy brat, even if for a moment. “Sam. He’s going to be okay.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, Dad’s steady, steel eyes contrasting Sam’s teary ones. “It’s going to be okay. He’s a Winchester, after all. No fever is gonna bring him down.”

Sam swallowed, pushing away all the protest he’s gathered against the “We’re Winchesters” sentences over the years. He couldn’t bring himself to say them loud anyways. He couldn’t say them to Dad, who had already his ‘Nothing can stay in my way’-expression. Not the one he had on simple salt-and-burn or baby monster or anything like that. This was his ‘I don’t care how strong you are, I’m going to kill you’-face, or ‘it’s impossible, but I’m going to figure it out’-face. John was fighting against all odds, and that was what scared Sam the most, although he knew there was no way Dad would lose with this face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for commenting, it's a great motivation for me:) Things seem to get even worse for Dean, I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks about this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean opened his eyes to a dark room. Well, it wasn’t all dark. Small rays of orange filled the room, either the morning or the evening sun. The light wasn’t enough to brighten the white walls, white bed, white everything.

Dean sighed. A hospital.

Judging by his heavy limbs and aching head, he’d been the one getting hurt. Again. _Beats sitting next to Dad or Sam in the hospital bed, though_. Dad. Sam.

They were on a hunt, Dean was in the hospital. What if they had called while he was here? What if something happened? What if they hadn’t called?

He only realized he had troubles breathing when he started coughing, and it turned to a fit. Damn, his throat felt like dry paper, scrubbing with every breath. He struggled for air, and his back arched, trying to escape the pain from the inside. He tried control his breathing, return to an even, human pattern without pulverizing his airways, but it didn’t work, and serious panic started to take hold of his mind.

Suddenly he noticed a hand on his shoulders, gently pushing him down on to the bed. “Calm down, son. You’re in the hospital. Calm down.”

“Dad?” asked Dean, turning to the man he hadn’t noticed in the room. Or rather, he tried to ask, but the only thing escaping his mouth was another cough. Next second his father was pushing a glass against Dean’s lips. “Calm down, Dean. Drink some water.”

Dean didn’t know if it was because of the order, or the calm and steadiness in Dad’s familiar voice, but he finally felt the senses and control return. Dad seemed to control the amount of oxygen in the air, too. He parted his lips, and Dad helped him get some of the cool water through his throat without Dean moving much. “Thanks, Dad,” he croaked. His voice was still damn weak, but at least it was audible this time. He was about to ask why he woke up in a hospital, but Dad was faster.

“How are you feeling, son?”

“I’m okay,” he answered, almost in instinct. At Dad’s inquiring and persistent frown, he made a mental check-up. His head hurt, but it wasn’t that bad. His throat still felt sore, though the water had helped. Even during his little cough crisis there hadn’t been any other pain, just a general weight on every limb. So, nothing important. “I’m okay, Dad.”

“That’s good.” Dad leaned back in his chair, relaxing his shoulders. He was squinting, and dark shadows encircled his eyes.

“What happened, Dad?”

A small smile appeared on Dad’s face. “You got sick.”

Sick? Dean took his eyes from his father’s exhausted features and looked at the opposite wall. He remembered having fever. But he had taken the medicine… Hadn’t he? Something else was strange – he’d been alone.

He turned back to his father. “You were on a hunt, what happened? Are you two okay? Where’s Sam?” He tried to sit up, leaning on his elbows, trying to see the bed behind Dad. “Are you okay?” Breathing was getting harder again, like something was stringing around his neck, cutting his airways once again.

“Dean, calm down, everything’s okay-”

“Dad, where’s Sam? Bring me-”

“I said, he’s okay, Dean!” At Dad’s raised voice Dean stopped his struggle to sit up and gave in to his father’s hands pinning him down. “He’s fine,” his father repeated much softer, and suddenly something behind him moved.

“Dean?” Sammy’s drowsy voice filled the sudden quiet of the hospital room.

Before Dean could answer, Sam had already stumbled to his side, staring at him next to their father’s seat with wide eyes. “You’re awake! Finally!” With that, a pile of little brother was in his arms. Dean gave him a minute, and put an arm around his back, enjoying the presence he’d missed the last few days. He gave him long enough to see Dad’s soft, rare smile before he drew back. “Sam… your chick is showing, dude.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam shot back, without leaving his position, tightening his grip around Dean if anything, squeezing Dean’s chest and everything inside.

“I can’t breathe, Sam.”

“Sam, why don’t you go find the doctor and tell him your brother’s awake,” Dad intervened with a chuckle, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam drew back with excitement and a wide grin. “Yessir,” he chirped, and run off after throwing another smile like an excited puppy at Dean. “I’ll be right back!”

“Don’t run over any granny, bitch!”

Sam’s ‘jerk!’ echoed through the halls, along with an apology and a hushing voice.

“This boy is too excited for his own good,” Dean laughed. He made another attempt to sit up, and Dad helped him to adjust the pillow. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he was leaning to the back of the bed instead of lying flat.

“He did wait all night for you to wake up, after all,” Dad said, with a chuckle himself.

All night? How long – “Dad, what day is it?”

Dad’s eyes hardened again, and Dean knew his reaction would be analysed and interpreted in a way only his father could. “

It’s Thursday.”

Dean blinked before he made sure. “Thursday?”

Dad nodded.

“Son of a -” Dean tried to remember. On Monday he’d realized he was gonna be real sick, he’d had taken the first medicine. He’d woken up next morning, his head had felt like it was going to explode, like something had drained all the blood in his veins. At some point he’d tried to make soup, and he’d fallen asleep at the table… the soup had burned on the stove. But all of this… they were hazy memories, like a dream he was about to forget… memories of Tuesday morning, early morning.

Next thing he knew was the hospital. He’d been knocked out for two days. By a fever. A stupid cold!

“When… when did you two…” His voice trailed off, but Dad knew what he was asking.

“We brought you here yesterday.”

Dean tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he didn’t remember two days of his life, one of which had been his birthday. “What happened to the hunt?”

“I called it off.”

Dean wasn’t even sure if there was accusation in Dad’s voice, but he felt awful. Dad had cancelled a hunt because Dean had caught a cold.

“I’m sorry, Dad. On the hunt this weekend I’ll-” But Dean didn’t get to say what he’d do.

“I called that one off, too.”

Dean couldn’t believe the indifference in Dad’s voice. He’d cancelled a hunt he’d been preparing for weeks. This couldn’t be about Dean being sick. There had to be something else. Dad wouldn’t bail on a hunt because Dean had a little fever and headache. Right? “Why?”

“Doc said you have to stay for at least five more days.”

Five days? “Since when do we care what the doctors say, Dad? I’m fine!” Or he would be, until the hunt.

“We care this time.”

Dean didn’t understand, this was against everything they’d done this far. Nothing is important enough to cancel a hunt. No party, no friend, no school play, no match. And certainly not a stupid cold. “Dad, come on. The hunt is important, we can’t just leave the people to die. I’m fine, I can check out AMA, or climb out of the window -”

“Enough.” Dad’s sharp words cut his sentence like a silver knife. “I said we’re staying, and that’s it. I’m still the one calling the shots. Do I make myself clear?”

A shiver run through Dean’s back at the stone-cold voice. There was no point in arguing anymore. But that wasn’t what made Dean shudder to his bones. Behind the icy expression there was hot anger, fury, directed at Dean, and if they hadn’t been in a hospital room, Dad surely would have full out yelled at him. But Dean couldn’t understand. The hunt was important, Dean knew it was, and he wasn’t the one calling it off – he tried not to be in the way, even with the sickness, not to be a burden, so why was Dad angry? What was Dean supposed to do, to say?

Probably the same as always. “Yessir.”

Something in his voice seemed to make Dad waver, but Dean couldn’t place it. It seemed like he wasn’t doing anything right these days, anyways.

“Dean -”

The nurses chose that moment to pop in and Dad stepped back without finishing his words.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester. I’m glad you’re awake.”

“It’s Dean,” he corrected, looking away from the door, the nurses, and Dad.

“Okay, Dean, then. We would like to make a small check-up, so if you could give us a minute…” The last part was directed at John and Sam, who’d just entered the room. “Don’t worry, it’ll only take a couple minutes, then you can have him back.” She smiled, probably hoping to lighten up the mood.

“Take your time.” Dean replied. He didn’t really feel like looking after Dad when he left the room.

* * *

 

Dean sighed in relief as the nurses finally left the room. This could have been so much more pleasant if the hot one, who seemed to be the only to be too young to be his grandmother, hadn’t been a clumsy newbie who’d actually poked him with the wrong needle over and over and painted a dotted pattern on his arm until the granny took over and had therefore ruined every chance for a little fun.

Her loss, Dean thought as they closed the doors behind them.

He shifted to a more comfortable position. They’d given him some pills to take the weight of his limbs, but it still took an unusual amount of force to move. After finally sitting in a vertical position (the granny nurse had helped him to set the bed), his eyes fell on the empty bed and chair next to his own. He wondered if Dad and Sam had already left. Probably not, as Sam wouldn’t have gone anywhere without seeing him again. But sooner or later he would be alone in the hospital. For a long time, if he really had to stay for five days. If Dean had his way, he would’ve been out that night, no question.

He blew out another breath. Five days, and no TV.

Suddenly the door flew open, and Sam was grinning at him. “Hey, Dean.”

“Hey, nerd.” Dean rolled his eyes at the good mood of his brother. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll be on my feet on only five days.”

The grin instantly fell, and a worry filled frown appeared on Sam’s face. “You seemed like you weren’t in pain, and the doctors and Dad said -”

“I’m fine, Sam. Just not in the mood for hospital entertainment.”

“Then stop complaining, you idiot.” He pulled the chair until it was as close to Dean’s bed as possible and sat down, his knees touching the metal of the bed. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but since you’re whining like you’re two, I guess I should.”

He made a dramatic pause, and Dean knew he had to show curiosity to make Sam continue. “Please, my little, kind brother, tell me what you have prepared for me.” He made sure to put enough irony in his voice, which Sam still ignored with grace.

“If you insist,” Sam rolled his eyes theatrically, acting like he actually considered his next words, “I asked the nurse, and she said you take your meds, you could eat pie tomorrow!”

Dean could see how happy Sam was to bring these “good” news, but all he could hear was the fact that he was too weak to eat pie, just like he was too weak to leave the hospital, too weak to hunt, too weak to help Dad.

Still, he tried a smile for his little brother. “Sounds great.”

But Sam realized it hadn’t worked. Of course, he did, he was his brother after all. Once again, his smile faltered, and he turned to the little five-year-old with the slouched shoulders after breaking his brother’s toy.

“Tell me about your trip,” Dean said, ending the silence before it became too uncomfortable.

“It was okay,” Sam breathed out, looking at his hands.

Dean raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

Sam chuckled. “Well, not really.” And he fell into his usual pattern of complaints. How it had been boring, how oblivious every person in town had been about the supernatural, how it had been a creature Sam had never heard of. Dean listened with one ear as he observed birds and bugs from the window on the other side.

“… And Dad gave me five more books to read and that thing wasn’t even mentioned anywhere.”

“Good thing you got a break, then.” Dean muttered, more to himself than for Sam.

Sam froze. “What?”

Dean sighed. “Good thing you have a distraction now, then.” He tried to soften his previous words, he didn’t want to destroy Sam’s mood, but he just couldn’t act like he was okay with being chained to the hospital and making them miss a hunt. Because of a stupid fever.

He didn’t look at Sam, even at the lack of response. But, after a few seconds, he heard Sam sniffle, and his head snapped to his little brother on reflex. “Sam?”

Sam was staring at a random spot on the bed, glaring holes in it. Dean could see how he fought back his tears, something Sam had never been really good at.

“Sam, I’m sorry, man, what’s wrong?”

But Sam bit his lips, swallowed, sniffed his nose once more.

“Sammy, come on, don’t cry…” Dean’s voice trailed off. After all this years he’d been there for Sam, he still lost it when Sam cried. He wanted to make it stop, but he had no idea how. Why was he even crying? “Sam, dude, it’s -”

Finally, Sam snapped. “You’re an idiot!” He jumped up, rubbing his eyes with fury, which could’ve been funny if this was on TV and Sam was a toddler.

But he wasn’t, and this was real. And Sam broke off into his rant. “Don’t you dare say it’s okay, or stupid or unnecessary! You are a stupid idiot!”

Dean didn’t even try to defend himself, there was no way Sam would let him speak, even if he still had no idea what this was about.

“You think it was a nice distraction? Maybe that I was happy to find you like that?”

“Sam, I -”

“I was worried sick, Dean! I was already worried when you wouldn’t talk on the phone, only answer with texts. You did it because I could’ve told you were sick, right? You didn’t want me to know.”

“I -” _didn’t want you to worry._ Well, look how that turned out.

“Suddenly there was radio silence, no answer, no call, no text. I couldn’t bring Dad to call you, I made Bobby call, and there was _nothing._ And I try to not worry, I try to figure out the damn hunt, I try to believe Dad.” He mimicked Dad in a ridiculous way. “’He’s old enough, he knows what to do, he will be okay. What could even happen.’ He thought I wanted to bail, just like you did.”

Something started to click in Dean’s head. He could see why Sam was enraged, offended even.

“But you know what was worse?” The fire of rage in Sam’s eyes faded, and tears came up once again. He continued with a shaky voice, chin wobbling. “Dad called, and I was so sure, I hoped you would answer, that you were just angry, or had been in a fight, or don’t know, forget your keys and phone in the motel room. But you didn’t answer. And Dad… He stopped saying you’d be alright, he stopped telling me to focus on the hunt.

“And after two hours we drove back, and something had burnt in the motel. And I found you, in your bed…” He looked Dean in the eye, and all traces of voice left Dean. He tried not to think about how he would’ve felt if the roles were reversed.

“You weren’t moving. I jumped on you, and you didn’t wake up… And Dad realized what was wrong… He said you were burning up…” He was still looking at Dean, but Dean didn’t think he was seeing him, he seemed lost in what he remembered, shaking his head slightly. “Dad was so worried, Dean… He was scared… he didn’t want to show it, he didn’t say anything. But the way he drove, he yelled at the doctors, the nurses, he didn’t want to leave your side.”

Dean couldn’t think of Dad like that, but if his condition really was that bad…

“You were in coma for hours. You just lay there, and you didn’t move, nothing. And the doctors couldn’t say anything. I thought… I thought… Two hours later, and it would’ve been too late, Dean.” Sam’s face crumpled up in tears again and he tried to hide it by rubbing his eyes, but Dean had seen enough.

He raised one arm, and Sam took the gesture for what it was. He sat down next to Dean and embraced him. Usually, Dean would make fun of him, tell him he was too old and big for cuddling, but he felt the shivering of his little brother. And he took it. He took what Sam had to give. Because Sam had never been good at bottling things up.

He’d really given Sam a good scare… That was what was happening here. Seeing Dad worried always panicked the boys, because it was one of the rarest things in the world. And if Dad had been really that worried, that scared… And Dean didn’t doubt it. If there was anything to scare Dad, it was Sam or Dean, even if he usually didn’t show it. Sam had seen that, and there had been no one to comfort him… No matter how awesome Dad was, he didn’t handle the comfort part well. Especially not Sam’s. Dean had really scared the crap out of both.

Another thought his brain was fighting against occurred. Not moving. Didn’t wake up. Coma.

Dean hadn’t thought about the fact that he could’ve died. Actually died. He woke up that morning, but he didn’t have to. Burnt soup could’ve been his last thought. He could’ve never seen his brother and father again.

He closed his eyes with a deep breath. Now that he knew what happened in the two days he was out, he understood. He understood Sam’s over-happy mood at his brother being in the hospital. He understood that he had to stay for five more days. He understood Dad’s reaction earlier.

What he didn’t understand, though… He raised his hand on Sam’s back, giving him room and signal to move back. Sam looked up. “It wasn’t just a cold, was it?”

Sam’s eyes flickered, and he settled on Dean’s chest again. “It was some bacteria in your head. You must’ve caught it somewhere. Nothing to do with the weather.”

Dean put his hand on Sammy’s head, pressing him back to his chest. Suddenly, happiness overwhelmed every fibre in him. Yeah, he was stuck in a hospital bed, so what? He was alive, he had a little brother, whom you could call cute and adorable it you were the chick-flick-type, he had an awesome dad who did everything he could to protect his sons, even if he wasn’t around much. He was glad he’d woken up this morning.

And he felt awful for making his family go through that. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“What for?” Sam asked with a muffled voice.

“For getting sick.”

“You’re still an idiot.”

Dean scoffed. “Let me apologize in peace, brat. It’s not gonna happen twice.”

Sam squinted Dean’s side without moving. “Don’t be sorry for getting sick. Be sorry for not telling me or Dad, for not getting help. For not taking care of yourself.”

Dean smiled. He had such an emotion-filled, dramatic brother. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

A few seconds they just laid there, treasuring the moment. Until Dean remembered something that had bugged him earlier. “Sam?”

Finally, Sam sat up, sensing this was an important question.

Dean squinted his eyes. “Did you really think I might’ve not answered your texts because I locked myself out?”

Sam averted his eyes, and Dean thought he saw his brother’s cheek redden in embarrassment. “I was worried!” he mumbled.

“Dude!” He made sure he showed how much this thought offended him, pressing down a grin with difficulties. “I’ve been picking locks before I picked up the pen! Even for you upstanding citizen a crappy motel door isn’t a problem.”

“I know,” Sam said, uncomfortable with the accusation of pointless theories.

“Hell, we broke into the mansion of the millionaire together, the one with the poltergeist -”

“I know, Dean!”

Dean laughed. Sammy, always easy to upset when criticized of not thinking things through.

“You’re the biggest idiot, you know that?” A punch landed on Dean’s arm, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but definitely making itself noticed.

“Good thing I have such a smartass little brother, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close the end! One more chapter and the epilogue to go:) I love hearing your comments and thoughts, so please keep sharing them!


	5. Chapter 5

Between medical examination and a lot of sleep Dean allegedly needed, it was hard to have a private word with Dad. Finally, he caught him alone when Sam decided to leave the two of them for a bathroom break next morning.

“Dad.”

“Yeah?” He stepped closer from the window he had been standing next to.

Dean swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

A frown appeared on Dad’s features. “What for?”

“For what I said yesterday. For making you worry. And for the hunt.”

“The doctor said there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent the sickness. But he also said that the symptoms should’ve been distinct enough to notice.”

Dean couldn’t meet his father’s eyes, so he settled with his fingers in his lap instead. Yeah, he’d assumed he wasn’t on his top form.

“You should’ve known better to ignore something like this. We don’t always go to the hospital or the doc, but only when we are positive what’s going on. You know about first aid, how you treat injuries. You are well trained. If your body is sending you signals you don’t understand, you go see an expert, you understand?”

Dean gulped, relieved that Dad didn’t seem too angry, for whatever reason. Maybe it was still the aftereffects of Dean’s near-death experience. But his voice was firm, cold, demanding. Something he shouldn’t forget. A lesson. “Yessir.”

Dad sighed, and he continued with a much softer voice. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes shot up to Dad’s. He really should avoid nearly dying of fever, it had messed up everything in his already messy world up. “What, why?”

“I broke my promise, although I’ve been preaching you not to since forever.”

Dean had hoped that his birthday didn’t come up. Of all days of the year, he just had to sleep through his birthday. Not that he cared. “It’s okay, Dad. It was just a movie anyways, you couldn’t have known -”

“Maybe. I still broke it.”

“Dad, it was just a little birthday thing, the hunt is more important.”

His father stared back at him, eyes once again cold, like on teaching mode.

“It’s not about what is more important, I shouldn’t have promised if I didn’t intend to keep it at all costs. I didn’t even try it. That’s why I’m sorry.”

Before Dean could say anything, the older hunter softened again and a sincere sorry face looked at him, letting the once so openly loving father shine through, the one not filled with bitterness, the one that had been drowned by the dark and the worries of the world. The one that hadn’t been convinced that all evil was after his family.

These were the moments Dean could see how hard his father was trying. He did care, and he hated this life as much as Sam did, no matter what his little brother thought.

Slowly, a small smile played on Dad’s face, and Dean knew it was mirror of his own.

Suddenly, the door bursted open, announcing Sam’s entrance.

Dean was about to roll his eyes, already half of the rotation, as he recognized what Sam was holding. “Is that…?”

“Yes, it is,” Sam smirked, waving the pie in his hand carefully.

Instantly, Dean’s mouth watered, and his whole body started to crave for the sweet encounter of delicious unhealthiness. “Oh god, finally!” He reached out to the sweetness of his life, making Dad and Sam laugh, probably at his ridiculousness.

“Wait, you idiot, I’ll put it on a plate.”

“Oh Sammy, I don’t need a plate.”

“I know you don’t, Dean, but we do, if we want a piece, right, Dad?”

“Don’t give him too much, Sam, the doctors said he has to be careful,” Dad warned with a playful smile.

“You’re right, Dad, we don’t want him to get sick again.” Sam moved the knife a couple of times before deciding on the size of the cake and putting it on a plate. “That should be enough, right?” He showed the plate, exposing a tiny piece of pie that would certainly not satisfy Dean’s needs.

“Sam…” he growled, but Dad interrupted him with a smirk.

“That’s totally enough, son.”

Dean couldn’t prevent a whine escaping his mouth at the team play that targeted him. “Dad, come on…”

“Actually, Dean, you don’t want a bigger piece.” Sam brought Dean’s and Dad’s plates (Dad’s pie was almost twice as big as Dean’s) and went back to take his own.

“Why not?”

“The doctor said you could become hypersensitive towards specific food if you eat it while being sick.”

Dean took a big bite of his pie. “Why is that a bad thing?” He was already overly sensitive towards pie.

Sam continued explaining with an indifferent voice. “It means you get to hate it afterwards.”

The pie in Dean’s mouth turned into a cold, tasteless stone, and he had to force himself to swallow it, feeling them go down his throat. The next piece he had already on the fork suddenly looked dubious, like the apple that had poisoned Snow White and kept her from making and eating pie for a long time. “What?” He looked at Dad. “He’s kidding, right?”

Dad didn’t laugh. “You think your brother would joke about something like this?”

Dean turned to Sam, back to his father, before his eyes fell on his pies. Nothing could make him _hate_ pie, right? There was no way. Pie was in his blood, how could he-

Just then, both his brother and his father bursted into laughter, his father’s deep chuckles, and Sam’s cackle drowning every other sound. “Dad, did you see his face?” Sam threw his head back as Dad nodded, still shaking slightly.

The stone in Dean’s digestive system vanished, leaving an almost insulted note of the aftertaste of sweet, sweet pie. “I hate you. Both of you.” He munched the last piece on his plate before holding it out for Sam, who was still giggling. “Second treat, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

It didn’t take long to finish up the whole pie. While Dean was unmistakeably the only one to realize the true value of pie, both Sam and Dean enjoyed it enough to not embarrass Dean.

Once their stomachs were satisfied, a comfortable silence fell on the three of them, unsurprisingly destroyed soon by Sam as he started sending equally excited, expecting and forcing looks towards Dad.

Dean chuckled as Dad tried to ignore it, and their eyes met. _Whatever it is, just get over with it,_ Dean shrugged.

Dad gave in with a sigh. “Dean, Sam… and I- we… want to give you something.” He shifted in his seat, clearly already wishing that this moment was over.

“Like… a present?”

“No, a sound beating.” Sam rolled his eyes, leaning over the board of the bed at Dean’s feet. “It’s your birthday, Dean, what else?”

“Shut up, sasquatch.” He looked back to Dead.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and Sam suggested it, too, and it’s time already that you got one, too -”

“You’ll love it!” Sam jumped up with the excitement of a puppy, rubbing some of it on to Dean.

“You’re sure?”

Sam brought a cocky grin filled with pride and confidence. “One hundred percent.”

Now, Dean was curious. Presents were something Sam wasn’t usually confident in. “Seems like -”

He was interrupted by a movement and a tinkling sound to his right. He turned to his father and blinked and drew back his head as Dad’s hand was too close to his nose. In the fist, the keys of the car were dangling, waiting to be taken by Dean.

“Is it – Is it in the car?” That would be pretty cruel, considering that Dean was still pretty much glued to the bed.

Dad didn’t say anything, just kept holding the keys. “Dad? I don’t understand…?”

Sam made an excited squirming sound, obviously trying to stifle his laughter.

Dean raised one eyebrow. Slowly, he was getting enough. These two had spent too much time together. They didn’t do anything but picking on Dean since he could stay awake for longer than half an hour. What was their -

His eyes fell on the keys again, then on Dad’s face. _No_. Back to the keys. The keys to the Impala, to their everything. To Dad’s most precious. To _Baby_.

It couldn’t- they couldn’t- Dad wouldn’t-

But he saw it in Dad’s eyes, the instinctive reluctance, next to the steel certainty of his mind, the conviction about the rightness of his decision.

“The car?” Dean said, whispered, still not daring to believe.

Dad nodded.

Dean’s hand reached out, slowly, with an open palm, and Dad dropped the keys right into it.

“For real?” He knew it was ridiculous, it wasn’t like them to play him like this… But still…

“I couldn’t take care of her the way she deserves it, lately.”

“Now you don’t have to keep your relationship secret anymore, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, and Dean felt blood shot in his face, just with the realization. He had a car, he had _the_ car, Dad had given him his car, his baby! He looked at the keys once again, one last time, and threw his arms around Dad, nearly falling out of the bed, and not nearly as graceful as he hoped it to be. “Thank you, Dad, thank you, thank you!”

Dad gave him a short, firm hug, patting against Dean’s shoulder with his big hands, and Dean felt the strength and warmth spread in his veins.

The moment he drew back, Sam had already thrown himself at Dean.

“Thank you, guys, you’re the best, it’s the best! Thank you!”

Sam laughed as he sat next to Dean’s leg. “See, told you you’d love it.”

Dean felt his mouth meet its limits. He couldn’t smile harder, it already hurt. But he didn’t care. The Impala was his! “I don’t even know what to say, thank you!”

“Just promise you’ll keep it PG while I’m around.”

“No promises we can’t keep, right, baby?” Dean smiled at the keys.

“Take care of her, son,” Dad said, still smiling.

“Of course, Dad. I learned from the best.” He closed his palms around the keys, feeling the shape in his flesh, already too familiar to admit. He gave up trying to explain anything. Instead, he just grinned at his father and his little brother, both of them looking pleased and content, and Dean himself felt like he’d been granted wings.

And everything in their small, hard, dangerous world was perfect again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end (minus the epilogue)! I can't wait to hear what you all think about it. Please consider commenting, it always makes me happy to hear what you liked or what you didn't like, if everyone was in character or not so much, typos, grammar stuff and so on:)


	6. Chapter 6

As Sam entered the motel, he felt light like a feather. He knew he wouldn’t live this life forever, and he would show Dad what he saw. Someday, they would all be normal. He would end the suffering of his family.

As John watched Sam run off, he felt like a mentor that had achieved his goals. Both of his boys were strong enough to fly, and both had found a goal to guide them. They had picked their own fights, found their drives. And they would be strong enough to keep themselves and each other safe.

He would continue doing everything just to keep them safe.

As Dean tried to find his sleep, he felt like he was looking at glass. Glass cracked at all sides with the words he had heard in this hospital with walls like damn paper, with doors that didn’t close unless you pulled with all your strength. He felt like he was trying to fix it with paper glue and tape, like he kept cutting himself at the edges. No matter how hard he tired, how often he cut himself, how much he bled, he knew it would break.

It would shatter to thousand pieces, the clinking would ring in his ears and all strength would leave his knees and smash him to the ground. And once again he would be sitting in the shards, left to pick up the broken fragments, put them together piece by piece, trying to not fail this impossible task. He’d been trying to repair the damage from a decade and a half ago, although the traces, the scratches and scrapes and dents would never vanish, and he’d never had a real chance. And he sure as hell wouldn’t get it next time. But he would keep trying, and keep acting like he was used to broken glass and cutting shards, like he didn’t mind it. Like his hands didn’t burn.

Because Dean knew something both Sam and John forgot.

John had lost his happiness, his family to ignorance. He would never return.

Sam had lost his happiness, his safety to knowledge. He would never accept it and risk the rest.

Fighting this war had glued Dean to his family. He would keep them together until the pull became too strong and ripped the rope apart, and Dean along with it.

Yeah, Dean knew his family, and he knew he would continue fight to keep it together, give everything he had, but he knew he was bound to fail. Maybe in two years, maybe in a decade, but he would fail. He already dreaded that moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think about the epilogue? I think that's the part I'm most insecure about, I have no idea if it turned out good or bad. It was very hard to write, to find the right words, and I kinda got pretty emotional about it... So, what do you think? Liked it? Didn't like it? Found it weird? Any kind of feedback is really appreciated, every comment makes my day and week!  
> Thank you very much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter of my first fic! I'm really excited, and I would very much appreciate any comment:) The chapters aren't at the same length, and this one is the shortest I think. So, next time it will be much longer.  
> Well, it's Dean's birthday, but life rarely goes as planned. The question is, how much the events can change, right?


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